


Prologues to the Heretic

by MoonLight_Heretic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Cute, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, One Shot, Prompt Fic, Romance, Solavellan Hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25685467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonLight_Heretic/pseuds/MoonLight_Heretic
Summary: The Heretic story is rather grim and action packed, I think it would be nice to have a place to post one-shots that explore the relationship between Solas and Moon'Hwa before 'The Heretic' starts off. So these will be fluffy, spicy and sometimes informative. I also will challenge myself here by selecting prompts and wrapping a story around them using Solas and Moon'Hwa as characters. There is so much additional content that I cut from 'The Heretic' that I think should be posted here. I also want to write more happier scenes for Moon'Hwa and Solas that would just not fit into the plot of my current story. Think of these following stories as memories of a happier time.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Lavellan & Solas
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Strategic Ambitions

**Author's Note:**

> So last time I created a new series I got confused and messed things up....I am probably going to do it again. Posted here is the first One-shot. It is also probably, laden with grammatical and paragraphing issues. In any case, I hope you find these shorts enjoyable.

Strategic Ambitions 

One-shot 1#

I dragged the Inquisition Forces Marker to Crestwood, a disapproving tone hummed passed my pressed lips. Caer Bronach was an essential outpost in the region, it would be a strategic boon for the Inquisition’s goals, even though it‘s current occupiers used it for nefarious gain. But, in taking it, how different would we be from the bandits? I moved the Marker away, my head leaning in opposition to my decision, then I sharply moved it back. “The ends justify the means,” I mumbled, nibbling on the rough fabric of my glove. “Do they, Inquisitor?”

I bolted upright as soon as his husky voice struck the thick silence. His feet whispered against the stone, no more than mere hints that someone was present. I was suddenly embarrassed, how long had he seen me drown in my indecision? Was my _recent_ appointment as Inquisitor, ever more obvious in my strategic struggle? He strolled up to the spot next to me, my shadow no longer empty. Its occupier stood at least an entire head taller, it was difficult to maintain a discreet look at his handsome features. I stole quick glances at his face, little captures frozen in my mind to paint a broader picture, mostly of his expression and what it could mean. His eyes glazed over the war table as he analyzed my plans written into the topography of Ferelden and Orlais. This wasn’t the first time he disturbed my quiet hour, when the other advisors had surrendered into the call of slumber. He rested his fist under his chin and supported his elbow with his other forearm. His grey eyes eventually rested on the Forces Marker perched on Crestwood. His brow rose and I panicked, my fists clenching and unclenching, had I made the wrong choice?

“May I?” He offered and scouted closer to me when I nodded in acceptance. His heat and scent, now within my space, gooseflesh freckled my arms and I was thankful for my long sleeves. His arm reached out, his long and nimble fingers picked up the Forces marker. I never realized before, all this time, he was left handed. “Inquisitor, think of this map like a game of chess—“ The marker, while being moved, consequently knocked into a Connections Marker within vicinity, and it wobbled and listed. My right hand darted out, under its own violation and caught the Marker before it fell. My hand brushing up against the calloused texture of warm skin. _His_ skin. I jumped slightly as we made contact, even through my glove I felt a charge, the stinging kiss of lightning. Just barely, but there, hissing up my arm and down into my toes. It was the third time, after he had grabbed my hand in the wreckage of the conclave to cast against the fade rift, in which we touched. I froze and heat rushed to my face like an inferno. Suddenly, I was mentally transported to the dream spent in Haven over a week ago, his lips and tongue-I looked away and he cleared his throat, neither of us withdrew from our awkward positions.

In my surprise he let go of the Marker, his hand overtook mine in a gentle hold. Like an instrument he configured my fingers around the Marker and lifted both, guiding my hand to a different tune, he hummed in approval when the Marker found its home on top of Redcliffe, “Your army is strongest when centralized on the board, do not spread yourself too thin.” I could feel my heart beating at the confines of my chest. An angry barrage, demanding escape. “Otherwise, you will see them fall, one by one.” He lifted my hand again, this time purposefully knocking the other Markers down. ”If you endeavor to march an army into Crestwood and claim Caer Bronach for yourself, then yes, you will be no more than a mirror reflecting on what is already there. A stolen item does not forsake the bearings of theft when exchanged hands.”

I was speechless, tunnel vision in full force, namely on our joined hands. My lack of response must have prompted him, for he retreated from our physical connection, my hand mourned the absence of his, my fingers drooping like a wilting flower. I watched his shoulders suddenly stiffen, his neck rose his head high and he observed me from the corner of his eye. “Do you understand, Inquisitor?” His voice rang formal and devoid of emotion.

“I appreciate your insight, as always.” It sounded sadder than I would have liked. This coldness was unwelcomed and abrupt, his change in personality was no different than a cool draft of wind, funneling down my collar and making me shiver, and I rubbed my arms in protest. I evaluated his positioning of the Markers to distract myself.

“Though…” I hesitated. My gaze narrowed in on Redcliffe and then flicked to Crestwood.

“Though?” He asked, perplexed, his brows caving into his eyes.

His hands folded behind his back as he waited expectantly.

I picked up the Marker situated on Redcliffe and twirled it in my fingers, his eyes watched with growing interest. “Is it still stolen if I’ve earned it?” I set the Marker down on Crestwood with a distinct thud. “We wrest the town from the undead, free them from their torment, then seize the fortress. We _ease_ them into our maintained presence.”

He shook his head, “Then you leave Redcliffe gaping open to the pandemonium of rogue Templars and unbridled Apostates. In which, Corypheus can place his Marker, in the vacancy of yours.”

“So I gain one, lose the other.” I confirmed, looking to his face for reassurance. I turned around and leaned against the solid oak, my hands inching ever closer to his person. “Sacrifices are necessary in chess…or else you would never cross the board, correct?”

Solas tilted his head and quirked a brow, “You would be sacrificing your Queen, for a Soldier. The peace has returned because of your army keeping the tension under control. Ferelden is in your debt.”

“Yes Solas, but…” I reached over and plucked the Marker from Crestwood, “My _King_ needs a kingdom.” With my right hand, I slowly separated his fist from behind his back, opened his palm and closed his hand over the Marker. I gazed up at him with intent, the edges of his eyes widened as understanding coagulated the blood in his veins, I felt his pulse quicken under my fingers and heard a sharp intake of breath and now, suddenly, he could not meet my eyes. His cheeks were flush with pinkish hue that threatened to exaggerate into red. “We are no longer speaking in terms of chess and strategy.” He observed, swallowing nervously.

“I would be open to more suggestions, Solas. If you are willing.” My finger’s pressed into his in a light squeeze.

He sighed and visibly relaxed his shoulders, “It could lead to trouble.” His eyes closed and he looked away, never retrieving control of his hand.

It hurt. I bit my lip and hung my head. My ferocious beating heart was reduced to a mere whimper inside my chest. I pulled my hand away and flexed my fingers awkwardly, his hand fell to his side with the Marker still sheltered in his palm.

“I don’t mind trouble…as long as you are there to guide me.” I whispered against my better judgment.

A labored sigh graced my ears, “It’s…been a long time.” His fingers fiddled with the Marker and he brought it up to eye level, further inspection to mask his nerves, I assumed. Though, it did not decrease the degree of red staining his cheeks.

“Yet time doesn’t negate your experience. The kiss-“

“ _The kiss_ was ill-advised and impulsive. Things have always been easier for me in the Fade.”

“It was not unwelcomed, Solas. Here or in the Fade. You…make me feel like I am swathed in light, and in it, a warm embrace. Strong and soft, steady and …unending.” I found relief in honesty. Its anchors lifting and my heart slowing.

He flinched at my words, his brows knotted together in a tumble of clashing emotions. “You change…everything.” He almost sounded angry, disgruntled even. That is when I noticed his trembling fist, the Marker, reduced to just an object to pressure and squeeze.

My relief melted into shame. Was this rejection? He wasn’t saying no, but, he wasn’t saying yes either. I began to think that I had stressed him, it was selfish of me. Perhaps, my feelings should have been kept sacred and secret, lost in the depths of my heart. _Put away_. I did my best to patch the situation. “Solas, I will not force the issue. I just…I…am sorry.” Words were lost, they stuck to the sob climbing up my throat. I pushed off of the war table and made way for the door. I did not look back, his glare memorized, imprinting in the creases of my brain. It was then I was halted, a sweaty palm wrapped around my forearm. I was pulled back and folded into the heat of his arms. “There is much to consider.” He whispered and closed his eyes, his jaw clenching as he shook his head. “Whatever holds you back, Solas, know that I support you. In everything.” I reassured, tracing his arms with my fingertips. Hope sparked anew, like a spring bud careening out of heavy snow.

“In _everything_.” He breathed, suddenly wistful. He pressed his forehead into mine. His lips a mere temptation away, “In everything.” I repeated.

He breeched the distance and his mouth met mine, his hands lifted me to sit on the war table, the Markers clattering to the floor. I slid my arms around his neck and he caressed my jaw and held me close. My King had found his Kingdom.


	2. Red Handed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy and a little smutty snippet of Moon'Hwa and Solas's growing relationship as the events of DAI take place.
> 
> to post a quote from this work here would be spoiling it so....read on.

I observed him from across the room, I wasn’t quite sure if he knew I was there. I did not care to alert him. I cherished the sight and the thought of disturbing this picture in action was unthinkable. His back was turned to me, focusing intently on the fresco mural in progress before him.

He employed his whole body to illustrate, each gesture grand and calculated, mirroring an intricate ballet. Though his feet were firmly planted, his mind was clearly flying elsewhere. This performance, I had never seen anything like it, and I stood awestruck and dumbfounded as the uncultured Dalish girl from Ostwick. Lit clusters of candles lined the walls and its light haloed the walls in a flickering ring, the sun had long retreated and surrendered to the moon’s plight. It was remarkable how he managed to avoid stepping into the flaming candles surrounding him.

“You nourish my spirit, Solas. Have I told you that?” My voice commanded the words before I could stop them. 

His wide brush strokes halted, the paint dripping from his wide brush onto his trousers, the tips of his ears matched the tint of red expressed on the wall.

It was evident that my words struck something inside of him, and the ever vigilant fade expert was caught off guard.

“Solas?” I pressed.

I made my way over, observing the red paint staining his leg and white candles by his feet.

“You surprise me, again.” He whispered, sullen and distant.

“Did I offend you?” insecurity pricked at my heart, I yearned to make everything right again, even if my feelings were to be denied. Perhaps, I was pushing him too quickly. After all, he did mention that it had been a great deal of time since…well, whomever had caught his heart before me. It wasn’t a thought I liked to entertain. I slipped my hand around his wrist drawing it near, consequently dribbling the red paint onto myself by proximity. He pulled away before more pigment could mark me, and set the brush down on a pallet. 

“No. You did not.” He answered, neutrally.

“What troubles you?” I probed, accepting the loss of his arm and closeness with as much dignity as I could muster.

“You are…unlike anyone I’ve encountered, you are unique. Your spirit is a gift to this world and I…” His smile did not reach his eyes. “I am still adapting to the concept that you are...”

“Mine.” I finished for him, with a confident smile pulling at my lips.

“No.”

My smile dropped with my head. “I thought-“

“Inquisitor, I cannot withhold you. No one can, a spirit as potent as yours needs no anchor. This world needs you free, expects it. So no, you cannot belong to me.” Solas continued, stepping closer.

His warm paint-riddled hand encompassed my glowing one, palm flat against palm, it flared as his fingertips kissed mine.

“This spirit cannot do this alone.” I swallowed, my voice shrinking in despair. “I thought that you—we--“

“Hush.” Solas pressed his finger to my lips. “I did not say that. I will support you as best, and in all methods I am able.” He reassured.

“In all methods?” I questioned suddenly breathless as he drew closer. His face mere heartbeats away.

Solas’s fingers folded over the back of my hand and with his other he gently lifted my chin, “Yes.” The impact of his lips clouded over any doubt raking my heart. “Vhenan.” He whispered against my lips, my face flushed at the endearment. “Solas--“ Anymore words melted into his mouth.

My free arm boldly coiled around his neck and I pulled him in for a deeper experience. The world no longer pulled at my mind’s sleeve, there was only this man and his fingers tilting my jaw, steering me into the direction of his mouth’s intent. As if I was clay to be molded and sculpted, his touch massaged my jaw. Kisses slow, savoring, gentle and _careful_. I struggled to match his pace, perhaps I was more assured of my feelings than he. My impatience was difficult to conceal and my pressure on his neck increased and an embarrassing whine escaped my throat.

My next actions surprised even myself, I spun us, knocking the candles, and their flame dissipated as they rolled in all directions and pushed Solas’s back to the wet wall. He grunted from the impact, his brows raised and eyes questioning, but I silenced the shape of his forming words with my lips and I pressed his hand to the wall, planted it into the red paint. If he could leave his mark, so could I. I could feel him smiling into my kiss, playful, like a challenge accepted. The rules defined, boundaries pushed into new depths. 

His palm spread against the curve of my waist pulling me in sharply and he flipped us, my hair stuck to the paint and my hand was pressed above my head in the same manner as his. “Shall I use you as my brush?” He asked, low and slightly panting. “I’d rather serve as your canvas.” I gruffly replied, shame no longer an obstacle. I pulled his face down and my tongue sought his, and his growl rumbling from the back of his throat provoked my own.

Solas broke the kiss and ripped us away from the wall, a book clattered and spilled its pages on the floor. Then another aimed right at us and Solas and I separated, allowing the projectile to pass between us.

“Animals! The both of you!” Dorian cried from above. “You can at least do us all-- Maker-fearing men and women the favor of not being caught red-handed!” He huffed one final time and disappeared over the banister.

I glanced at Solas his chest heaving and his face was flush with the actions that just transpired. I was no better off. He rubbed at his face and sighed, his hands, among my own, were covered with red paint. I observed them with amusement. Dorian was right, literally. An idea was conceived in that moment.

“My apologies, Inquisitor. The fault is mine. I should have never—“

“I expect you in the war room an hour after dawn. Bring your paint and a brush.” I ordered, a sly smirk playing at my lips.

\----------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been so long since I last posted in this series. I find it challenging to deviate from the Solas I write in The Heretic verses the fluffier Solas I write in these prologues.


	3. Mixed Paint, Mixed Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His weight settled upon my frame, my legs draped over his waist, no more limp than a tapestry hung upon a wall. This tongue untangled from mine, diving into the hollows of my neck, his teeth racking against the skin there, my chest heaved and my nails nearly tore into the wool blanket as I gathered it into my fist. Twisting the fabric into my hand as my knuckles matched the white snowcapped frostbacks. The sunlight spilled upon his back, apricating him as if he were the Maker himself, crowning him in the vibrancy of the charged stained glass. Fuck! It was either now or I was going to let him take me right there.

I never had much time afforded to me nor was it ever gifted by anyone. Instead, my time was always reserved for others, like a coin purse that never emptied. Nor _could_ it. At this elevation of the Inquisition’s mountainous climb for power, _my_ time could not be denied to anyone. That is, at least, what Josephine stressed day in and out. But, by the end of each extraverted and social day, I was left with nearly none for myself. The only scrap of time I could carve out was late at night when I was supposed to be sleeping, resting for the turbulent days ahead. When I did finally sleep, my dreams taunted me with a person who skillfully stayed out of reach. I may have commanded armies but I could not command my own subconscious.

Out of all of the conversations I was forced to participate in, out of all the time that was diverted to others, I earnestly wished I could have spent it with _him_. The visits to the War Room had ceased, frankly I was too exhausted to partake in the study of the map. As the Inquisition ascended into importance, my personal freedoms diminished into its looming shadow.

A measly hour before the sun rose was the only time I could manage with him alone, undisturbed. I could be sure of it. I would savor every moment. I would find my freedom under the moon. Even if it was ruled by purpose never the less. The sun would rise soon, but darkness would conceal the land for _at_ least another hour.

I waited by the stained glass window, my thoughts were wrapped up in _him_. Guilt tugged at my sleeves, he was man of purpose, who valued his time like a poor man who valued spare change. Asking him here, there had to be a reason, surely he would not enjoy my company under the premise of doing nothing. But, I have good motivation to ask him here, my mind reminded, shooing away the guilt.

The door behind me creaked open, striking the early morning silence with its urgent complaint. I swiveled from the glass and like a broken dam, the moon’s light beamed into the room. The colors of the luciferous stained glass painted him in a glow of crimson, emerald and blue. He was right on time and he shut the door behind him as discretely as possible. I realized our next moments would have to be short in favor of decency.

I opened my mouth to speak, then I came to a realization rather quickly, that I did not know what to say. There were no words waiting in my mouth to be released, instead I’d much rather to study how blueth light washed over his face, accentuating his expression. He was a work of art himself.

He watched me in silence, with a subtle expectation layered in his heavy gaze. Ah, yes, he probably wondered why he was summoned here and why I asked him to bring fresco of all things. In the moment, the question that was asked or rather, _demanded_ of him, was one designed from passion. Perhaps, he thought such passion would continue here and he waited for me to ignify such a fire that would engulf us both.

"Did you bring the paint?" I stammered, hoping to fill the air with something other than my nervous silence.  
"Yes, I produced colors in various spectrums. You did not specify which hue you desired the most …or for what purpose." He added after a small pause, his eyebrow up-ticked. There it was, the question. I wrung my hands behind my back.

The moment had passed for boldness spurred by passion. Thus, I was left with only an aggravating shyness, I could not breach its surface, but I would not allow myself to drown in it. “So I see. Thank you.”

He set the satchel--he had slung over his shoulder on the surface of the war table. The burlap material slouched open and slivers of fresco filled jars winked back at me in the moonlight. Solas placed his fresco splattered palms flat on the map and leaned his weight into it. His eyes traded his current view of Ferelden for the sight of me, and there was an ustulation present in his pellucid eyes, a mockery of my bloodshot and nervous ones. He awaited my next move, like an opponent in a chess game, full of anticipation and… calculation.

“I know it is quite early. Thank you for coming.” I blabbed, repeating words of gratitude just to ease my own anxiety. I secretly wished he would just cut through my own bullshit and push me against the war tab-- 

“Of course, Inquisitor.” He answered automatically, and I winced as the title befell my ears, with a short pause he continued, “I couldn’t help but notice...you presumably, did not ask for paper of any sort?” He stood back up to his full height, leaning into the blue luminance, curiosity tilting his head.

“That is correct.” I gulped, looking elsewhere and I bit my lower lip.

“Inquisitor.” He called gently, a tiny chuckle folded under his tone. This time I was prepared and I withheld my look disdain for the accolade. Was my own name so difficult to say?

“Yes?” I replied turning my head to appear interested in the wooden candelabra glinting above us.

“Look at me.” It wasn’t a command, there was no undertone of impatience, and it sounded just barely above a whisper, but my eyes snapped to him.

“Most-” He paused and rolled up his sleeves, revealing paint spattered forearms, “-view vulnerability as a weakness…”

Solas sauntered to the other end of the war table where I stood, blinking and taken aback. “Yours, however, is an inscape that threatens to entrance me.” His fingers weaved around my jaw. “You are a precious being, a masterpiece, and in so being, your vulnerability is a strength. Do not try to hide from me. I …am transfixed and I yearn to discover more.”

“I feel like I’ve known you.” I smiled, our noses brushing as his words enveloped me.

He stiffened slightly, withdrawing just a little, he regarded me with a cold upturned lip, the beginnings of a smile, but it was not a happy one.

“Perhaps in another time.” He hastened, as if he wished to push such a thought into my mind before another was summoned forth.

“I mean that…I trust you. I do. I hope that you in time, will trust me.”

His false smile dissolved into his true emotions, the corners of his lips anchored into the depths of uncertainty. I barely caught it as his lips formed the word ‘trust,’ though no sound was uttered to push the sacred word into existence.

His gazed lifted from my face and onto the windows behind me and his eyes glassed over. Suddenly, Solas was distant, as if eons now measured between us.

I hesitated in touching him, my fingers shimmying back into closed fists, what reaction would I provoke if I pulled him from this state?

I was compelled to question, just who had hurt him so deeply? I would salve all his wounds if I could. Fill his cuts with compassion, cover all abrasions with love, and pour loyalty into an empty heart.

Surely, I was no healer of the magical kind, but perhaps I could be enough.

Time, however, would not pause for us and the purpose for bringing him here lashed at my indecisiveness.

I boldly flattened my palm against his cheek.

“Solas?” I questioned gently.

His eyes closed and he sighed heavily, breathing through his nose, he seemed to collect himself. 

I could not mistake the reservation in his cool eyes when he finally opened them again, whatever wall I had broken through was rebuilt and strong as ever before.

It was ironic that he found my vulnerability beautiful and had urged me not to hide it, yet he could not perform the same. I ignored the contradiction for now.

“Do you remember my offer, Solas?” I asked with a playful smirk.

He tilted his head as he neglected to recall.

“Last night---when I said I’d rather serve as your canvas?” I reminded him, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I couldn’t help drifting from his cold gaze as my cheeks flushed in slight embarrassment.

“Ah…” Was the only syllable produced from his parted lips, and his expression transformed into an unreadable mask. We were enveloped in the eerie canticle of Skyhold’s structural groans and complaints as the chill pressed upon its bones. Neither of us spoke and I could not control the fidgeting that overwhelmed my feet and arms.

I could no longer stand it.

“Solas—“

“I do my best work in those dim hours before the dawn.” He smiled and his voice dove into a huskiness that alerted me to his intent.

His fingers slipping under the collar of my tunic, gliding down the rim until his thumb and forefinger closed around a button. “You chose wisely, well done.” He praised.

My face was completely rubricated, I could not speak for I was enraptured, his complements carrying me into an invisible pocket cushioned by his words alone, and I felt like I was floating.

“What a beautiful canvas you shall make, I am honored, Vhenan.” His eyes were hungry, yet full of careful affection, I would have to speak up now.

My palms folded around his hand, “Solas wait.” I laughed, breathy and soft.

He glanced up at me in alarm and started to retract his hand but I held him there firmly.

“Could you paint protective runes on my back and stomach?” The request was ushered by my breath alone.

“You…surprise me…yet again.” He blinked, his eyebrows lifting in total bewilderment.

“I did not mean to lead you into….something else…I just—“

“Inquisitor, hush.” A long sculpted finger pressed against my quivering lips.

The multitude of explanations that scrambled to leave my mouth all at once ceased, and a small grin bloomed across his face.

“Do not feel ashamed. You’ve committed no wrong that deserves the burden of shame. I am sorry, the fault is mine, alone. After last night, I was led by expectation rather than reading your body language. As for the other matter, I would be happy to. It is…a rather ingenious idea.”

His praises electrified all the nerves in my body, I was soaring, I clutched onto the war table just in case I might take flight. _Ingenious_.

Solas started to rummage through the threadbare sack, stacking the pigments on the surface of the war table, one hand bawled up under his chin, his eyes flicking back and forth and his mind, constructing and destroying ideas and strategies. I found him most beautiful in these moments, a man fulfilling purpose with his powerful mind.

I turned my back to the glorious sight before me and unraveled a blanket I had brought along, there was no way I would be staining the sacred war table with paint.

I would simply replace the inquisition Markers after we were finished, I plucked each one from their station and deposited them safely on the window sill.

“This paint, when it dries it will no longer flex nor stretch, when it cracks so will the incantation. Therefore…” Solas trailed off thoughtfully.

I smoothed out the crumpled wool blanket before me as disappointment fractured through my confidence. Perhaps I hadn’t thought this through?

“Have you considered wearing an amulet?” He suggested.

“I…yes but those, if I am not mistaken take longer to produce. I need this for today.”

He hummed in response.

“What do you seek protection from?” He untied a bushel of brushes, his fingers working at the crimson knot.

“What don’t I need protection from?” I huffed, rolling my eyes. “Everyone and everything has a target marked on _my_ head.”

Solas openly laughed and agreed, “True.”

“Specifically…I need spiritual protection.” I glanced up at him nervously, my heel tapping anxiously. Spirits could be a divisive topic with the seasoned fade walker.

“I see.” His head dipped back down as he meticulously laid out each brush of varying size and thickness, like a healer readying his instruments.

“Ever since Adamant…when we trekked through the fade…I haven’t felt right. Rifts…they call out to me. I suppose this is what Wardens must feel when Darkspawn draw near.” I hypothesized, “Or maybe the dreaded _Calling_.”

“The fade calls to you? It must be the result of the Anchor nothing more.” He remarked dismissively.

“Solas…it wants to escape. It seeks freedom? I don’t know…maybe the demons do…or if it is the fade itself… I feel so trapped around them, smothered by light, I can hardly breathe.”

This drew his attention.

He approached me, his hands formed around my shoulders steadying them as they shook, for I had not even realized I was shaking.

“Inquisitor, the Fade is a reflection, a perception of events shaped by the memories of those who bore witness to history. You do not need to fear it. Do not dwell on these thoughts…you will only afford them more power.” His thumbs smoothed the gooseflesh puckering under my tunic.

“Yes…but perhaps the anchor is an open channel—“

His hands slipped down my shoulders, gently sweeping down my arms until his right hand splayed against my lower back and his left palm connected with my lower abdomen. “Here.” His eyes softened, “These portions of skin and muscle will be the least impacted by movement.” Solas explained.

It was strange, normally, he adored speaking about the fade, but in that moment I could not help but think he was brushing the entire idea off. I would not push the issue further, his touch was a suitable distraction.

His finger traced an invisible circle into the fabric of my tunic as he pondered, “Perhaps, right below your neck as well.”

He left me then to uncap his jars and mix his paint into fluidity. My body felt his absence.

My hands faltered at the buttons of my tunic as I configured my back to face him, here I was feeling shy, when I was ready to rip his clothes off last night. Solas had not seen my body without the concealing attributes of quality fabrics, would he enjoy the sight of my naked flesh or would he be revolted? I had not given such an idea much thought before. I had no reason to. This situation, however was procuring me all sorts of new worries. I tapped my foot and nodded to myself as a solution presented itself before me. If I was to be all but bare before him, maybe I should not be the _only_ one.

“Perhaps, it is only fair and appropriate that you remove your shirt as well.” I glanced over my shoulder coyly as I unbuttoned my embroidered linen tunic.

Solas paused, peering up at me from under delicate eyelashes, “Indeed, I believe you to be correct.”

He tucked the jawbone amulet inside his collar and pulled his knitted robes over his head in one fluid movement. He then folded them neatly next to his paints. “As you wish.” He gestured to the folded cluster of the muted knitted tunic, it was a great contrast compared to his vibrant miscellany of paint jars. But such things could not hold my focus, for my hands froze at their station, two unbuttoned and 6 more to go---I had never seen Solas’s exposed chest. I was keenly aware that I was rudely staring but, I simply could not help myself. I had tried to envision him…in such a state, as shameful as it was to admit to myself. The window painted his pale skin in such rich jewel tones, it was as if he was borne of sapphire, rubies and emeralds. A deep green light cast his jaw and neck in viridian as it rolled into blue, the waves of his neck crashing into turquoise and then swathing his collarbone in cobalt, the hue transformed into violet as it bled into his chest which radiated in crimson. Solas was no less of a painting himself.

A very slight smirk hiked the corner of his lip, “I imagine you must enjoy what you see?” His speckled arms crossed behind his back, his pectorals flexing in a way my own mind couldn’t have conjured up better.

I bit my lip and swiftly changed my view to the window and continued with my task. Here I thought such a behest would equal the playing field and make me feel less…anxiety ridden. My fingers struggled to grasp the buttons, they were trembling too badly. I did not dare turn around, for I could feel his eyes on my back, waiting…hungry.

I became fed up with the resistance of the fickle buttons and I unintentionally slammed my fist on the war table in frustration. I may be the inquisitor, but not _everything_ in Thedas sought to bend to my will.

“Vhenan, do you require…assistance?” The fringe of his words were dipped in mirth as he tilted his head.

“If I can bring a bloody Warden fortress to heel, certainly I can wrangle a few buttons loose.” I growled, turning my attention to my task.

“Of course, Inquisitor.” He agreed, though I heard his footsteps draw closer.

“Perhaps, instead of wrangling those unruly buttons you could attempt to negotiate? Not everything is won by force alone.” He faced me, unashamed of his naked chest, as if being shirtless was as natural to him as breathing.

I gulped and looked away. It felt like my lungs had turned to stone, “If you’ve a better method, Solas, then proceed, please.” _Yes, please stop looking at my embarrassed face._

Solas’s grey eyes flicked up to my face before they settled upon my placket of virgin buttons. I released my hands and let them fall to my sides in surrender.

His nimble fingers got to work, releasing each one with ease, revealing a little bit of flesh with each slip of his thumb. The crisp air flooding in as the fabric divided and relaxed, no longer bound into loops of thread.

Solas stepped back when his work was completed, the tunic hung open, my stomach and chest were disenthralled, it wouldn’t take much to shrug it off my shoulders, but he refrained. His eyes were drawn to the floor instead, he would not look at me.

“I…um---thank you.” I murmured awkwardly.

He nodded and brushed by me, I heard the jars clink behind me. “When you are ready, we will begin.” Solas offered, but his voice sounded just a tad strained.

I sucked in a breath and rolled my shoulders, allowing the tunic to fall, I caught the sleeve with my right hand and set it in crumpled heap on the blanket. I shivered and suddenly felt guilty having Solas strip as well, especially since it was only for my comfort, for it was so chilly. A stone castle set in the frozen frostbacks like a cold diamond set in a silver ring, I should have known better.

I turned around and perched my knee on the table, eyeing him warily, only my breast band and my trousers were left between us. “Should I lay on my back or stomach first?”

Solas scooped up a green colored gob from an open jar with a pallet knife and smudged it onto his wooden pallet. “Either will do.”

I chose my stomach, then he wouldn’t be able to discover my flushing cheeks, at least then it could buy me some time to calm down. I lifted myself onto the covered war table.

My arms darted out to support my head and I slowly eased myself down onto the blanket, I laid as flat as possible while also attempting to settle myself into a comfortable position.

Then I waited, muscles tense and fingers clenching onto the blanket.

With a brush and dotted pallet in his hands he moved to position himself over me, the jawbone amulet grazing my spine, leaving a tingling trail in its wake.

“Are you comfortable, Inquisitor?” He asked in earnest.

“I—yes.” I stiffened. Mentally going over how many time he had used the title in the past few moments.

“You have…permission to breathe, there is no need for you to withhold your breath for this.” He instructed, I could feel the itchy tip of the horse hair brush linger upon my skin. I wasn’t able to quell the reaction as I jumped in surprise. ‘ _Idiot_.’ I chided internally, I knew it was coming.

“O-Of course.” I stammered. My heart was pounding so fervently I was worried it would clamor out of my throat. Why did I think this was a good idea? I would welcome a rift suddenly opening above my head, let the demons pour out, let them _talk_ to me, _talk_ me out of this.

Wet and cold were the new sensations that entered into the frame of my mind. His steady pressure circled my lower back, he was simultaneously firm and gentle.

Solas bent down, tossing the jawbone amulet to hang on the back of his neck as it got in his way. He focused intently as he set down his current brush, Solas’s deliberate and studious gaze was never broken even as his hand searched for an unidentified brush at his side.

Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed him reaching and selecting a smaller sized brush.

He brought no tome with him, nor any paper of any sort, no instruction, I realized very quickly, he was drawing these protective runes from memory.

I suppose a mage of his caliber did not require it, perhaps he had drawn many in his lifetime. Still, I was more than impressed. I sincerely wished to fill this lengthy silence with conversation, but I also despised the idea of disrupting his focus.

I simply waited, enjoying his close proximity, his heat enveloping my frigid skin. Little by little, my stiff limbs and muscles relaxed into a supple surrender.

Our earlier conversation regarding the fade drifted into my awareness again, his dismissal was so unlike him, the question simmered on my tongue. If he did not see the issue that compelled my fear, why did he agree to draw the runes so readily?

“Solas?”

“Vhenan.” He acknowledged neutrally. Thank Mythal!

“I---do you—“My teeth sank into my lip as I failed to configure the question in a meaningful way.

“I do not believe it necessary to tell the Inquisitor to speak freely in her own castle.” Solas admonished lightly, but his words were stained with humor.

“You dismissed my fear earlier…why then were you willing to paint me with protective incantations? If there is nothing to be concerned over…?” My question tumbled out, a compilation of jumbled vowels and consonants. I wasn’t entirely sure he had even understood me and his lack of response was starting to prove it until--

“I am willing to do anything that will provide you comfort on the battlefield, Inquisitor.” Solas explained softly. “Even if it is from your own mind.” He then added after a quiet moment.

“I am unsure how to thank you, Solas.”

“There is no need, now be still, will your muscles into complete immobility.” Solas’s hand hovered just barely above my lower back, I could feel its welcoming warmth and I did what he instructed. I no longer watched him, and nestled my head into my arms. My lids drooped as whispers of magic knotted within my muscles, pulling, crossing, weaving in and out, coiling around and around until all I could feel was an indomitable sense of security accompanied by a buzzing in the nerves of my lower back, as if I had been shocked, but unhurt.

“It is done.” Solas announced. “You may turn over.”

“Isn’t the paint still wet?” I argued, afraid to mess up the intricate creation.

“It will not transfer, if that is your concern.” Solas placed his warm hand on my shoulder blades, “I can still paint another just below your neck but I believe two will be sufficient enough.”

“I trust in your judgement.” I complied, basking in his touch. A growing recognition tugged at my memory, why didn’t his ministrations feel new?

“Here.” Solas lifted my shoulders, helping me to roll over, I did not need the assistance, but I did enjoy feeling his hands on my bare skin, he did not need to know.

Now I could take in the full view of the oak candelabra that reigned over the war table, the wiggling flames blazing over us, bearing witness to our secret activities.

More importantly, I could now watch Solas without contorting my neck.

Though, now, he could also watch me, see me, lay his eyes upon my rufescent face and know me for what I was.

I avoided his gaze, my back arching instinctively as I felt it graze against the wool blanket.

“Lie flat, Vhenan.” Solas pressed his hand on my bare stomach, applying a small amount of force, to further punctuate his command. I shuddered as his hand made contact, it was so clear, so obvious; his effect, so intimate. My body betrayed me, while Solas was a beacon of serenity, I envied his self-control.

I allowed for my back to sink into the blanket, I could do at least _that_ much.

He readied his brushes once more and he dabbed the tip of the brush into the viridian paint on his pallet. Solas poised the paint-tipped brush above my navel, his head tipping just slightly. If only I could read his thoughts. The brush tugged at my sensitive skin and I lurched to the right, giggling like a mad-woman.

Solas watched me and backed off in alarm. “Inquisitor?”

“I am sorry, Solas. It is so very ticklish-I-I-“ I gasped and covered my face, succumbing to embarrassment.

“Are you content?” Solas’s voice dipped low and because of it, I found new reasons to shiver.

I righted myself, staring at the vaulted ceiling hopelessly, my body as limp and still as a brick.

“Yes, continue.” I declared, clearing my throat and refocusing.

Solas lowered his hand and with it the brush, all of my control dissolved as I careened to the right again defending my stomach with my arms. I heard Solas sigh and withdraw once more.

“Perhaps, I can offer a solution?” He murmured eyeing me as I again, quieted my reactionary limbs.

“If it is the brush causing the discomfort, we can remove it all together.” Solas set the brush down among his collection.

My eyes widened in shock as I watched him sink his finger into the green paint, he held it within the panicking light, observing it as the candles’ firelight glinted on its wet surface. “If I may…be so bold.” He declared more to himself than to me. It, however, was not a question.

His finger drew a line around my navel, Solas’s eyes searched mine as he waited for a reaction.

It felt so natural, like I had felt this before, sometime long ago. His skin’s impression was not foreign to me, not even on my most unveiled portions of flesh. Why? Is this what it feels like when one locates their soulmate? Their touch is no more an intrusion because it is already a part of yourself?

The world was safe, the impending battles were merely a distant thought to be trifled with later, and Corypheus was just a mad darkspawn that could be easily slain with a dagger and my wits. It didn’t matter, none of it, as long as I was in his arms. I wonder…did he feel the same?

“Is this better? You look…sullen.” Solas noted.

My reverie came crashing down around me, “I-no-I mean yes. I can manage this.” I stammered.

“Good.” Solas dipped his smallest digit into the paint and continued, now drawing with his pinky finger.

I spectated him as he completed his task so diligently. With paint covered fingers he raised his hand above the gesture of green symbols and closed his eyes, his mouth forming words not spoken aloud, either that or I could simply not hear them.

The anxious and lambent flame in the candles bowed to the magic that now emanated from Solas’s hand. Ambient wisps unfurling around his fingers and darting into my stomach, like a green meteor shower. The heated sensation I had felt before, now had a visual to couple with it.

It was mesmerizing. My lips parted in amazement, I had seen Solas use his magic in various ways, this was not the first time, but never had it felt so personal.

It was over too quickly, I attempted to tuck the memory away, treasure it forever, but my exhaustion kept me from coveting a clear image.

“It is done.” He announced, his hand lingering over my stomach just a moment longer before he stepped backward. Solas offered his open palm and extended his fingers for me to grab, “Inquisitor.”

The title, again bothered me coming from his lips, for we were so much more than mere Inquisitor and spiritual advisor. Shouldn’t he understand that now? Why must barriers exist between us still?

I slid my own into the warmth of his welcoming hand and he pulled me upwards.

“Solas.” I sat on the ledge of the table, eye to eye with the wise mage before me.

“Something troubles you?” He speculated, reading my expression expertly.

“Solas…” I tasted his name in my mouth and smiled with pure glee, “Do you know how much joy your name brings to me? It is only right that you use my name, as I use yours. When we are alone—“ I embraced his hand in between my palms and stroked his paint speckled skin. He watched me with growing curiosity, “-like this, you should call me Moon’Hwa.”

Solas sighed and he looked elsewhere, suddenly he was distant again, forlorn and haunted. He was no different than the silhouette of a great mountain haloed by the moon, I could see it but not reach it. At least he did not withdraw his hand from my grasp.

His eyes eventually found their way back to me, shame sprouted in his cheeks in sporadic shades of scarlet, “No, it wouldn’t be right.”

“I don’t see why not, I would much prefer you to _not_ shout ‘Inquisitor’ while we are in bed.” I remarked cheekily.

Solas stifled a laugh, a startled and gargled noise that originated from shock rather than humor, “I… would call you Vhenan. As… I do now.” Solas’s eyes darted up to measure mine. “ _If_ we were juxtaposed against the tousled landscape of blankets and pillows. Is it no longer pleasing to hear?”

I searched his eyes, not faltering under his intense scrutiny, “Perhaps, one day you will call me by name, Vhenan.” I spoke with confidence. I did not miss his pained grimace that was plastered over with a well-intentioned small smile. Like a crack in an Orleisan chateau’s wall, filled in and painted over, but the indentation still remained. I questioned, “Sola—“

Sunlight trickled in, like a tiny nuisance, no more than a leak from the ceiling in a barrage of a storm, the first indications of its light climbed over the mountaintops and striped across Solas’s brow. He quickly closed the gap between us, his pressing lips ceasing any questions from me. His graceful fingers wove themselves within my hair and he positioned my head to his taste. I was lost to the soft pleasures of his mouth. I lassoed his torso with my arms and reined him in, our chests wound together like a pair of wings prepped for flight, but I was already soaring in intemporel mindlessness. I savored the feeling as my hands glided down his uncovered back, I had his flesh in my hands, all to myself and my greedy fingers took full advantage.

The sun’s persistence on my back grew into a smoldering reminder that time was escaping us. My hands wandered slowly up to his chest, I didn’t want to release him nor did I wish to be free from his hold, but my burning backside reminded me of the haste that I must make back to my quarters before the maid came to alert me to the time. I applied pressure gently at first, in all honestly my limbs were liquefying in his embrace, soon enough they would be pooling around me as I melted from the efforts of him and the sun combined. His breath hitched in his throat as my fingers accidently brushed his exposed nipple. His kisses became insistent, urgent even, his tongue dragging along my bottom lip as hunger drove him to push us down upon the war table. Instead of stopping him, my only reaction was to match his intensity.

His weight settled upon my frame, my legs draped over his waist, no more limp than a tapestry hung upon a wall. This tongue untangled from mine, diving into the hollows of my neck, his teeth racking against the skin there, my chest heaved and my nails nearly tore into the wool blanket as I gathered it into my fist. Twisting the fabric into my hand as my knuckles matched the white snowcapped frostbacks. The sunlight spilled upon his back, apricating him as if he were the Maker himself, crowning him in the vibrancy of the charged stained glass. _Fuck_! It was either now or I was going to let him take me right there.

“Solas! Damn it!” I cried out in exasperation. My fist trembling in the blanket as the other pitifully pushed at his shoulder. “You aren’t making this easy!” I growled.

He rose in an instant, his wrist over his mouth and in his eyes there was ….horror and pain.

“I am sorry.” Solas whispered, regret pulling his voice low. He turned away from me and collected himself as he quietly panted. “I am sorry.” He repeated, more to himself.

I sat up and sighed, I placed my hand on his back and he stiffened, “You did nothing wrong. It’s just…I believe our time is up.” I swallowed and breathed in deeply, attempting to catch my breath. I grabbed my tunic and hastily shoved my arms through, letting it flap open, I had no time for buttons. Solas seemed to be frozen, his nails digging into the table, I reached for his knitted tunic, disturbing its neatly folded shape. I draped it over his shoulder, “Here.” He paid me no reaction, his shoulder blades drawn rigid, pushing into each other, like two subterranean plates smashing into one another.

I jumped down on unsteady legs, they nearly collapsed under me and I clutched onto the table as I started towards the burlap satchel that hung agape in shock of our actions. I favored my stomach and lower back, afraid to bump into anything that might crack the runes, but then again, moments prior I had Solas on top of me and they were otherwise unharmed.

“I will help you collect your tools.” I filled the distance between us with my uneasy voice, he watched me from the corner of his eye. I twisted caps back onto jars and began to crudely stack them within the satchel. Solas pulled his tunic over his head rapidly sliding into the sleeves with practiced grace, his hands however, ironically fumbled for the jawbone amulet still perched behind his head.

He switched around to straighten his scattered brushes, enclosing them with strips of leather, tying the knot especially tight.

I handed him his full satchel, and he accepted it without seeing me, for he glowered at this brushes, his jaw taut with repressed acts and words.

“Solas.” I called out softly. When he gave no answer I continued, “I must go back to my chambers now. Are you… alright?”

He afforded me a sharp nod, but still, he would not meet my eye.

“Next time, I would much prefer to continue this _in_ bed. Or like you said, juxtaposed against the tousled landscape of blankets and pillows?” I leaned against the table suggestively, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Inquisitor.” A stinging reverberation that sliced into my heart, I jolted upright in surprise. He turned towards me with his satchel on his shoulder, dipped his head, and with rather elongated strides, he swiftly brushed past me and departed the War room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....this thing turned into a 10 page nightmare in word. I still am unsure of my feelings towards this one-shot. I promised this before the upload of the latest chapter of The Heretic originally, but did that happen? No. So here we are. Anyway...will update The Heretic soon as well. If you want to find snippets of future chapters--please follow me on tumblr @moonlightheretic.  
> Also---Intemporel means 'Timeless'


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